


Waiting To Exhale

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Boys Kissing, Broom Inventor Draco Malfoy, Character Study, Drunk confessions, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Flying, Friends to Lovers, HP: EWE, Healing, M/M, Pining, Resolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-05 03:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14035317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Draco is perfectly happy with his solitary life, or so he thinks. But an unexpected weekend with Potter and teddy forces him to examine the things he wants in life and what he's willing to do to get them.





	Waiting To Exhale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carpemermaidtales (carpemermaid)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpemermaid/gifts).



> Thank you tdcat for the amazing beta! and thank you gracie137 for the britpick <3
> 
> This is a birthday fic for carpemermaidtales. You're an amazing person, Mary, and I hope you like this! <3

Draco bounced on the heels of his feet with a growing sense of impatience as he glanced down at his watch. It was only half past eight, which seemed a little early for an impromptu house call. Then again it was only Andromeda and Teddy. Surely they’d be up by now. Teddy’d always been an early riser, which meant Andromeda had needed to become one as well.

Granted Draco hadn’t talked to them in the last few weeks, what with putting the final touches on the design for his newest children’s broom. The isolation had been well worth it though. The sleepless nights and hours of agonising over how to counterbalance the precision of adult brooms with the safety features needed in a child’s broom had born fruit. The inferiority of children’s brooms had bothered Draco for years, ever since he’d begun designing brooms and working on the charms to make them fly. The enchantments to provide extra stability, reduce max flying height, and slow speed made children’s brooms jerky and didn’t adequately prepare children for what it was like to fly a _real_ broom. Draco had hoped to make them work like an adult’s broom — so the spells naturally connected with a wizard’s innate magic, even before they had control of it — without the basic safety measures impairing the broom’s ability to sense the wizard’s magic. Draco had needed experience in wood carving and years of practice with Flying Charms before he’d felt confident enough to branch out and experiment with the design on his own, outside of work. It had been tricky going and involved far more trial and error - well, mostly error - than Draco had expected. The pile of discarded brooms that had failed to come remotely close to doing what Draco wanted had built up embarrassingly high in the back corner of Draco’s garden before he’d let his frustration get the best of him and cast an angry _Incendio_ at them all last month.

The fire had been a good idea in the end because watching the things burn had reminded Draco of the way the Fiendfyre had felt, burning out of control. The memory had been so visceral he’d had to shut his eyes and steady his breathing, almost able to feel the flames nipping at his feet as he’d pressed against Potter’s back and wondered if he was going to die. Draco had opened his eyes, had watched the brooms burn down to a small pile of sizzling fragments, and had a burst of clarity. He couldn’t explain why, but he suddenly knew exactly what he needed to do.

After nearly a year in development, a year of stealing free time when he wasn’t busy working on the newest Firebolt model set to debut before the World Cup next year, and then weeks of doing nothing but working on the broom after his mental breakthrough, Draco’s hard work had paid off. Or so he thought. Draco was far too tall and heavy to test the broom himself. He needed a child.

He needed Teddy.

Draco debated for all of two minutes about whether he ought to Firecall or send an owl first to make sure it was a good time to drop by before his impatience got the best of him and he grabbed a handful of Floo powder with his right hand, the pint-sized broom gripped tightly in his left, tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace and stepped through the green flames.

  


***~*~*~***

  


Draco tumbled out of the Floo, exceptionally pleased to see no one was around to witness his ungraceful entrance as he spelled the soot off his robes.

A quick glance around the living room showed that Teddy was likely already up, given several discarded toy cars on the floor in front of the sofa as well as the potion kit he’d got him for his last birthday - tiny vials laying scattered across the bright wool rug - and a haphazard pile of books near the squashy armchair in the corner of the room. It took even less time for Draco to notice the delicious smell wafting out of the kitchen and he smiled as he walked towards the door, his stomach grumbling loudly. He wasn’t actually sure when he’d last eaten, possibly the curry he’d had for lunch the day before. He'd been fairly preoccupied with tweaking the charms and had woken up this morning in his workroom, wood shavings stuck to his face and a crick in his neck, his wand still gripped tightly in his right hand.

He pushed open the kitchen door smiling in satisfaction. Clearly his timing was impeccable. Not only would he be able to have Teddy test his broom today, he’d also get a decent breakfast - a full-fry up too from the smell of it. Not that Draco was going to confess to anyone how much he liked something as simple as a fry-up, but it was Teddy’s favorite - a taste he’d likely acquired from his weekends with Potter. The only thing Draco hated more than polite small talk with people he had no interest in, was cooking, which was exactly why he’d been living on pot noodles and takeaway for longer than he wanted to admit. The fates had aligned this morning, though. This day was turning out to be perfect.

“I’m absolutely famished. Would you happen to have enough for- ” but Draco’s words died in his throat.

Andromeda was not the one in the kitchen cooking breakfast; it was Potter. Potter in a pair of ridiculous bright red pyjama bottoms with fluttering snitches — his bare feet poking out and his toes wiggling as he poked at the sausages sizzling loudly in the pan in front of him — no shirt on and a tea towel thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. He turned around and graced Draco with an easy smile.

“Morning,” he said, lips quirking up in the corner as if Draco’s unannounced visit was amusing.

“Draco!” Teddy yelled happily, hopping down from his chair and running across the room to slam his small body into Draco’s legs. If Draco didn't know better he’d swear Teddy was taller than he was last week. Teddy’s usual bubblegum pink was jet black with streaks of red and gold. Draco stroked his hair back fondly, kindly refraining from commenting on the change.

“I wondered if you’d be over today,” Potter said conversationally as Teddy pulled on Draco’s robes trying to get a hug.

Draco’s nose wrinkled up in confusion as he bent down to envelop Teddy in a hug. “You could not have possibly known I was coming over, Potter.”

“Could so.” Potter sounded smug. “No one has heard from you in weeks and then last night the Auror Department got a call about an excessive burst of magic from your home at half past eleven at night. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out you finished the broom.”

“That’s good, as you’re obviously not a genius.” Draco drawled trying not to smile.

Potter raised one eyebrow before shaking his head. “I’m right though, aren’t I?”

“I fail to see your point,” Draco muttered, straightening up as Teddy ran back to the dining table, climbed into his chair, and grabbed a piece of toast off his plate. Draco couldn’t see what either of those things had to do with him showing up today. “And anyway, what on earth are _you_ doing here, Potter? You don’t live here.”

“Andromeda is in France. Surely she told you.”

Draco thought back. Andromeda had told him she’d be gone for a few weeks and Potter would be staying at the house with Teddy instead of Teddy staying at Potter’s flat to make sure he didn’t get thrown out of his routine. But that wasn’t supposed to be until next week. Unless Draco had completely lost track of the date. That happened to him a lot when he was caught up with a project.

“Right. Of course.” Draco cursed himself for not being prepared to meet Potter instead of Andromeda.

If Potter noticed Draco’s embarrassment he didn’t mention it.

“You had a breakthrough, right?” Potter’s left eyebrow went up in the corner as he seemed to notice the broom in Draco’s hand. Draco felt grateful for the change of subject.

“Ah, that. Yes, yes I did. Astute observational skills Mr Auror.”

Potter amusement seemed to fade, his shoulders tensing as he turned back to the stove. “I assume you’re here for Teddy.” His words were clipped, voice stiff.

Draco had no idea what he’d said to make Potter retreat faster than a Boggart after a _Riddikulus_ charm, but he didn’t like it. Rigid formality doesn’t suit the other man.

“Do I get to ride it?” Teddy looked excited.

“Yes,” Draco said right as Potter said, “Maybe.”

Teddy frowned, darting his head between Draco and Potter. “I want to ride it!”

“What do you mean, ‘maybe?’” Draco questioned.

Potter still wouldn’t look at him. “I just need to check it out first.”

Draco bristled. “It’s perfectly safe, Potter. I tested the safety features extensively before bringing it here. I would never endanger Teddy.” Potter was always like that, going from hot to cold around Draco. Acting like they were friends then throwing up walls left and right. Draco had no idea what to make of it, but it drove him absolutely bonkers.

Potter sighed. “Why don’t we just eat. We can talk about the broom later.”

Teddy grinned, shooting Draco a knowing look as he whispered, “That means yes.”

“I heard that!” Potter laughed, the tightness in his shoulders appeared to dissipate as he dumped the sausages onto a plate and walked to the table. “Well, are you going to sit or not?”

“Good lord you have the worst manners. That is not how one invites a guest to eat.”

Potter snorted, wandlessly Summoning an extra plate to the table and dumping two fat, juicy sausages on it. “You’re not company, Malfoy.” With that Potter passed the beans to Draco as he reached for the plate of tomatoes wedged in between the bowl of fruit and plate of heavily buttered toast..

“What am I then?” Draco asked, before thinking better of it.

Potter seemed to be thinking it over, drawing his bottom lip into his mouth between his teeth, but before he could respond Teddy said, “You’re just Draco,” as if that answered everything, before shoving a huge spoon full of beans into his mouth.

Draco wasn’t sure exactly what that answer meant, but as they all tucked into their breakfast he thought maybe it was a good thing. It was not until Potter poured Draco a cup of tea — his favorite loose leaf Earl Grey — from the teapot in the middle of the table that he thought perhaps his arrival wasn’t so unexpected after all. Potter had said as much earlier, but Draco hadn’t _actually_ believed him.

Perhaps, he thought, a strange warmness spreading through his body, it wasn’t an accident there was more than enough breakfast for him this morning.

  
  


***~*~*~***

  


Potter had looked surprised when Draco offered to do the breakfast dishes, but he hadn’t needed to be asked twice. Instead he’d simply thanked him, hefted Teddy up onto his hip easily — bloody strong Auror types making it look like Teddy was as a light as a feather — and wandered into the living room leaving Draco to clean up the mass of leftovers and dirty dishes. He peered under Teddy’s seat and saw the floor was covered in crumbs and globs of beans that hadn’t made it into Teddy’s mouth. Lovely.

Draco wasn’t sure what had possessed him to offer. Draco wasn’t normally in the habit of doing things for other people, especially not without being asked. Not that he was selfish, or at least not as selfish as he’d once been. Draco was just selective about whom he invested his time in. It didn’t make sense to do things for people who weren’t a part of your life. Perhaps it was simply his manners making a reappearance despite his best attempt to stamp out every single thing he’d been raised to believe - good or bad. Besides, Potter _had_ cooked for him. It certainly wasn’t because Draco wanted to do something nice for him, or to make him smile —  though the smile Potter had rewarded him afterwards had been delightful.

Draco thought back to Potter sitting across the table from him over breakfast, making easy conversation with Teddy as if it were normal for the six-year-old to flit between topics faster than Teddy flitted through hair colors. Potter seemed to have a knack for taking care of Teddy, for making him happy, and especially for knowing what he needed. He had this rare ability to get Teddy to behave, to get him to eat his vegetables, hell, to get him to go to bed on time. Not that Draco had asked —  Andromeda had simply volunteered the information. Draco definitely did not ask about Potter when he had tea with his aunt, and he did not ask after Potter when he was having a playdate with Teddy. That would be ridiculous. Rather than feeling jealous of Potter’s relationship with Teddy, Draco simply felt grateful; grateful Andromeda and Teddy had Harry there to make their lives better.

Potter had an easy confidence about him, a surety in his countenance Draco found surprisingly easy to be around, which said a lot since Draco could count on one hand the number of people he was willing to spend time with - including _himself_. It didn’t hurt that Potter was ridiculously attractive, and not even in a conventionally attractive or noble way like Draco. Potter had grown into his body — no longer all awkward long arms and legs —  but his nose was a little wide, his hair an absolute disaster of thick waves that curled up by his ears, and his tanned body was riddled with scars - an expected consequence of the job Potter had once casually mentioned when Draco had asked why Potter didn’t bother using essence of dittany to heal them. Individually there was nothing remarkable about Potter, and yet on the whole there was something extraordinary about him.

Draco wasn’t sure why he cared that Potter was good with Teddy or liked to make breakfast. Or why he cared that Potter looked good in hideous pyjamas and that his too-loud laugh, instead of grating on Draco’s nerves, made him feel lighter. He didn’t know why it made his stomach feel funny to think about Potter thinking about him, or why the realisation  Potter had obviously been paying attention when he’d asked after Draco’s work all those times they’d met briefly in the foyer coming and going from Andromeda’s home felt important. Draco had always thought Potter was simply being polite, but his lack of surprise this morning made Draco wonder if perhaps he’d been paying more attention than Draco had ever realised.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he cursed when his thoughts of Potter shirtless and smiling at him in the early morning light proved to be too much and the line of dishes he was meant to be sending back into the cupboard crashed to the floor shattering into a million pieces. This, Draco thought bitterly, is why it was always a bad idea to think about Potter.

Potter was distracting. Potter was the exact opposite of Draco in every way, and indulging in these ridiculous thoughts would do nothing but derail the perfectly safe and comfortable life he’d managed to make for himself.

Besides, Draco thought, as he cast an overexcited and admittedly angry _Reparo_ at the pile of dishes, he did not fancy Potter. Potter was just nice. And funny. And attractive. And had more magical power than he knew what to do with. That didn’t mean Draco liked him.

  


***~*~*~***

  


If Draco thought his emotions would be easier to deal with once the cleaning up was done he was sorely mistaken. All it took was thirty seconds in the living room to see this day would not be going at all like he’d planned.

Potter was thankfully dressed now, though his jeans had holes in the knees, which was honestly abominable _and_ distracting. Draco did not need to see Potter’s knees peeking out of the fabric stretched across his thighs as he squatted down and made a small train zoom across the room for Teddy. Potter had absolutely no sense of what constituted decent clothing. Not that Draco was surprised. He’d begun to run into Potter more and more over the last year, and if he wasn’t in his Auror robes - the one thing Potter owned that actually fit - he was in a pair of horrendous trainers and well-worn shirts.

His current shirt, a faded Gryffindor Quidditch one probably from Potter’s eighth year at Hogwarts, was even worse. Harry’d been the captain that year. He’d been happy that year, or so Draco had assumed from the copies of the _Daily Prophet_ he had read that somehow managed to feature smiling photos of Potter near weekly despite the press being banned from Hogwarts. Draco, however, had not returned to school with Potter and the rest of his friends. He’d been offered a spot by Headmistresses McGonagall, every student of age had, but neither Draco’s pride nor his shame would allow him to return to the place where he had both found and lost everything.

Instead Draco had fled, traveling from one place to another until after over a year even he was sick of trying to buy his happiness with lavish experiences. Eventually, he’d pushed aside his feelings about his own self-worth and made himself return to England. That had been a disaster of monumental proportions, at least in the beginning. Draco had been unable to shake the judgemental eyes and not-so-silently muttered hatred that followed him everywhere, he’d felt unable to bare the shame of the things he’d done. In the end it’d been Teddy who'd helped him find his way. Not intentionally of course, since Teddy had been fifteen months old at the time and his limited vocabulary had consisted of the words _milk_ and _Ama_ — his attempt at saying Andromeda's name. Draco hadn't wanted to visit with Teddy, who cried over the most confusing things, always made a mess, and had absolutely no idea what the words _personal space_ or _boundaries_ meant. Unfortunately, seeing him seemed to be unavoidable, what with helping his mother mend the gap with her sister and all. His mother usually retired to the sitting room with Andromeda for a long afternoon tea and a good cry, and Draco was smart enough to know regardless of his dislike of children, Teddy was better off with him for two hours than with them, at least in the beginning. Broken relationships were not easily mended. Draco had learned the hard way.

However, somewhere between mentally bemoaning what in life he'd done to deserve having a small toddler trying to shove previously chewed up food into his mouth and debating fucking out of England again, Teddy had smiled at him, his tufts of baby hair turning a shocking white as he’d planted a slobbery kiss on Draco’s cheek, and Draco had felt something inside of him shatter.

As the months went on, Draco found he rather liked Teddy’s company. Granted he still couldn’t talk much, but Draco thought he prefered it that way. Teddy didn’t offer opinions when Draco talked about his insecurities and regrets, or his dreams. Children, it turned out, were surprisingly free from judgements and expectations, and Draco found it liberating to be around another living being who seemed to like him exactly as he was. The only problem was spending time with Teddy had meant running into Potter, who seemed just as fond of Teddy, and was over at Andromeda’s to see him several days a week. As Teddy got older he even spent weekends with Potter, which meant if Draco wanted to see him on those days he had to arrange a meeting with Potter. He’d expected to be denied, but that first time Potter had shown up at the park exactly as he’d promised he would, his left hand clutching Teddy’s small hand, and his right hand clutching a steaming cup of tea. Potter had sat beside him on the bench and they’d not spoken a word to each other as they watched Teddy dig in the sand.

A few weeks later Draco had received an owl from Potter inviting him over for tea. After ensuring the letter wasn’t cursed or a forgery, Draco had decided he had nothing to lose, and Flooed to the address Potter had given him. Upon Draco’s arrival, Potter had looked almost comically uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other as he’d led Draco into the living room - which honestly looked more like a playroom than a grown man’s house, toys and books scattered everywhere. Teddy, it turned out, had actually missed him, and Draco had marvelled at Potter going so far as to invite him over, marvelled at Potter’s ability to put Teddy’s needs so far above his own wants or comfort.

Somewhere between awkward polite conversation and Teddy begging Draco to pretend to be a horse, Draco had realised he was enjoying himself. Not that he told Potter that. His exact words upon leaving were, “This wasn’t the worst afternoon of my entire life.” To which Potter had snorted, called him a prickly wanker, and said, “Next week?”

Of course it didn’t really become a regular thing after that. Draco, by chance, had stumbled into an apprenticeship with the Nimbus makers. One night, unable to sleep and drunk on an entire bottle of firewhisky, he’d sent them a lengthy letter detailing everything wrong with their brooms and his personal opinions on how to fix them. Rather than getting a Howler in return they’d offered him a job. Draco hadn’t even been looking for a job. He no longer had any personal ambition and no need of money, but like most things since the war had ended Draco’s motto was _Why the fuck not?_ and he’d accepted.

Draco could not have anticipated how much he liked working, how much he enjoyed using his hands and his mind once more. Fixing the Safety and Levitation Charms reminded Draco of the work he’d done on Borgin’s spare cabinet but for all the right reasons instead of the insidious ones. Draco felt confident, capable, and surprisingly fulfilled. Draco liked designing the brooms, and even more so he liked tinkering with the charms that made them fly and prevented them from being tampered with. It was a fairly solitary job, most of which he did from home, that involved a lot of trial and error and experimentation. Draco liked being in charge of  his day and knowing he was making something instead of destroying it.

The only downside to Draco’s job was he often got more than a bit caught up in work, and his personal life suffered because of it. Not that he had much of a personal life, not unless you counted weekly teas with his mother, aunt, and young cousin; random owl exchanges with Potter about his experiments and whether he’d be meeting Potter and Teddy at the park that week; or Howlers from Pansy every time he missed their lunch dates.

That was okay with Draco though. He liked his work, which was more than he’d ever thought he might be able to say after the war ended. He’d never thought he’d find someone who would employ him, never thought he could be a productive, if not slightly reclusive, member of society.

All in all, Draco thought things were fine.

It didn’t matter that he was sometimes lonely. That he was tired of eating takeaway and pot noodles and even more tired of eating them _alone_. If he sometimes spent too long re-reading the letters Potter sent about Teddy, it didn’t mean anything. And if he sometimes spent too long watching Potter’s lips purse together as he blew on his tea, or felt his chest ache in an oddly unsettling way when Potter threw him a playful smile from the floor as Teddy rode on his back like he was a common animal, well that was to be expected. Surely that was normal. Everyone got a bit lonely and jealous of other people sometimes. Maybe occasionally Draco was jealous of Potter’s ease, , his confidence, and his full life with his well-respected career and friends. But it wasn’t anything more.

It couldn’t be more. Draco knew that.

“Oi, Malfoy, it's your turn to be the bloody horse. My knees hurt,” Potter shouted, startling Draco out of his thoughts.

“Absolutely not,” he answered, crossing into the room and dropping down into the armchair closest to Potter and Teddy. “I am not a common mule, Potter.”

“Technically a mule is half donkey, half horse,” Potter corrected, collapsing onto the floor with an audible groan. Teddy whined in complaint for before rolling off Potter’s back and plopping next to him on the rug to resume a half finished puzzle. Teddy was surprisingly easygoing.

“That’s just,“ Draco sighed in bewilderment. Potter was always spouting off random things, sometimes to do with work, sometimes to do with Muggles, and sometimes they were so obscure Draco wasn’t sure if they were true or if Potter was pulling his leg. “Why the bloody hell do you know that?” If Draco didn’t know better he’d swear Potter spent his free time researching _senseless things no one needs to know_ just to try to bewilder Draco.

“Gran says bloody hell is a bad word!” Teddy interjected, not turning around from the puzzle.

“That it is, half-pint,” Potter laughed, turning his head to the side so his eyes were on Draco and resting his cheek upon the top of his folded hands. Potter’s eyes were bright behind his crooked glasses and his cheeks were flushed. “I know a lot of things you don’t,” he added, voice softer.

“You most certainly do not.” He did, but Draco had absolutely no intention of ever admitting  Potter was right. Not about this or anything else. He’d sooner eat a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Potter sounded amused nonetheless. “I do too.”

Draco could feel the heat rising across his face. There was a challenge in there somewhere, but Draco wasn't brave enough to take it. Not when he wasn't completely sure what it was and what he stood to lose.

“So about the broom,” Draco tried to say casually, eyes trained on the back of Teddy’s head and not on Potter. Potter whose gaze was sometimes so intense Draco felt as if it might set him ablaze. “Could we possibly get that done today? I've got a lot to do you know, last minute touches on the charms and - other important things.” He waved his hands around in a vague manner hoping that might make it sound more urgent. It really wasn’t. Well, Draco’s urgency to see if it worked was real; the deadline he’d told Potter he was under over his third cup of tea that morning had been a lie.

“Right. _The broom_. That's why you came.” Potter’s voice came out stunted and Draco could not fathom why. He’d shown up unannounced at the crack of dawn and had already been there for hours. Surely Teddy or Harry were sick of his company by now. The polite thing was obviously not to overstay his welcome.

Potter shifted beside him, and Draco didn’t need to watch him to know the way Potter looked when he stretched his long arms overhead lifting his shirt, the way his stomach always showed when he did it. Draco saw Potter’s shadow fall into his line of sight as he stood.

Draco turned his head, watching Potter’s hand reach out to ruffle Teddy’s hair affectionately. “You ready to fly, little man?”

“I’m not little!” Teddy insisted with a petulant huff. Rather than apologise Harry smiled at him, holding his arms out in a silent offer of a hug Teddy wasted no time in accepting, scrambling into Potter’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck. “Do I really get to fly?”

Harry nodded, rising and holding on to Teddy as if he were light as a feather. “Of course you do.”

Potter turned to look at Draco, the openness he’d displayed over breakfast and with Teddy just moments before replaced by a casual mask that didn’t suit him. “You ready?” Potter asked.

“I’m _always_ ready,” Draco said confidently.

Potter smiled at Teddy and they shared a quiet moment as Potter whispered something that made Teddy turn bright eyes and a smile upon Draco. Draco’s heart clenched uncomfortably.

  


***~*~*~***

  


_Let’s do this now_ , turned out not to be _now_ but rather nearly two hours later.

As soon as they’d got to the kitchen door that led to the back garden Teddy had needed to pee, then Potter had remembered he’d forgotten his wand in the living room — _“I need to cast a Cushioning Charm on the grass, Malfoy,”_  —- and then Teddy had needed his stuffed hippogriff to fly on the back of the broom. It’d taken Potter and Draco nearly half an hour to find the bloody hippogriff, and by then Teddy had insisted he was starving and lain in the middle of the kitchen floor begging for a snack. A snack turned out to be more of a meal when he’d asked for a ham sandwich and then, _“Could I have a cuppa with it?”_ which had meant Potter had needed one too, and you couldn’t have a cup of tea without biscuits, and once the biscuits were out Potter had said they might as well make a full meal of it and had brought out a plate of fruit and enough sandwiches to feed a small army.

Then Teddy had needed to pee _again_ \- and bloody hell children never stopped needing to go to the restroom or eat - and Potter was no better.

By the time they made it out the afternoon sun was beginning to wane, casting a soft light into the yard. A gentle breeze ruffled Potter’s hair, and even though it wasn’t remotely hot Draco felt flushed all over.

“Right, so you just need to be confident alright?” Potter knelt down on the grass, one hand on Teddy’s back in a comforting manner. Teddy looked like he was not sure if he was more nervous or excited. “The broom is going to respond to your thoughts, to your body. If you want to go faster you lean forward and the same goes for side to side. It’s just like your other broom-”

“It bloody well is not just like his other broom. It’s far superior,” Draco insisted, eyeing the child’s-size Firebolt leaning against the fence.

Potter snorted. “Right, it’s exactly like your old broom except better.”

This time Teddy whispered something to Potter, and Draco had never before wished to have one of those infernal Extendable Ears, because he’d gladly sell half his vault to know what Teddy’s said to make Potter’s face flush as he smiled crookedly at Draco.

“Is that everything?” Potter asked, and it took Draco an embarrassingly long time to nod his head in affirmation. They’d gone over all of the details at breakfast, not that there were many. It really was almost like Teddy’s other broom, like most children’s brooms - except Draco had fine-tuned the safety measures and figured out a way to make them work using a mix of skill and pre-charmed features. It meant it would take longer for the child to learn how to fly, but it also meant they’d be a strong flyer for it. If anyone could do it, it was Teddy. Draco knew Potter spent hours every week teaching Teddy to fly. Teddy wasn’t a natural flier.  But he was still young, and Draco hoped this broom might give him the confidence he needed to be great one day, at least if he wanted to be.

An hour later the sun had set, Draco’s hands were freezing, and he was pretty sure if he had to watch Potter run circles after a laughing Teddy one more time he might die. Not that it was awful, the opposite really. Draco spent so much time not overstaying his welcome, making sure he didn’t give anyone the option of getting tired of him, he’d forgotten how lonely it was to be alone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent this many consecutive hours with other people.

And it wasn’t just that, it was the company itself. Teddy’s enthusiasm was infectious, and once he got over his terror of falling off the broom, he’d started swerving and even managed catching the Quaffle Harry threw twice. Watching Teddy’s confidence surge had done something to Potter. It was like watching a changed man - Potter was joyful in a way Draco had never seen up close and personal, laughing and looking at ease as he cheered Teddy on and chased him around the garden. It was as if watching Teddy succeed brought as much joy to Harry as it had to Teddy —  or Draco.

It made Draco’s chest ache with a visceral kind of want that made him feel deeply unsettled. Draco had spent years making sure he didn’t need people in his life. He was grateful for his Aunt and Teddy, for his mother's weekly letters and their Sunday tea, and especially for Potter’s sporadic and fleeting, but always memorable company. But Draco had never been able to shake the fear he imposed on people, that he was still unworthy of their forgiveness and attention. And yet being here, spending this much time with Teddy and Potter brought to the forefront all the things Draco didn’t let himself want, the things he didn’t think he needed or could have. It _hurt_.

“Draco! Draco! Play with us!” Teddy laughed, bringing the broom up to an impressive stop and floating near Draco’s head.

“Yeah Draco, play with us.” There was something in Potter’s tone that made Draco’s stomach flip. Potter’s hair was everywhere, his glasses askew, and his cheeks flushed red. He looked like he’d been rolling around in the grass,  like a messy child discovering the joys of summer holidays for the first time. He looked exuberant. “Aren’t you tired of just watching?” he added, and the weight of that question crashed into Draco with the force of a well cast _Stupefy_.

Draco had spent the first half of his life trying to garner as much attention as humanly possible, and the second half wondering whether he was worthy of any at all. He felt like an observer in everything he did, like there was an invisible line he could not cross. As if he were barely a participant in his own life. Though the chains that bound him to his regret were invisible, they were heavy. They were real.

Draco felt like weeping.

Draco was tired. So tired of watching.

“Oh, you two better watch out because I’m going to get you,” he huffed out before he could overthink it.

Potter’s look of surprise was topped only by the joyful shriek of laughter Teddy emitted before he took off on the broom. Potter’s legs moved even faster as he ran across the garden edging ahead of Teddy, his feet leaving heavy footprints in the grass - and in Draco’s heart.

  


***~*~*~***

  


“I’m not tired,” Teddy mumbled as Potter carried him into the kitchen.

“Course you’re not,” Potter agreed, winking at Draco. “Why don’t we go put on your pyjamas and then we’ll see if you’re ready for bed after.”

“M’not tired,” Teddy breathed, eyes half-lidded already. “You won’t leave while I’m gone will you?” Teddy asked,  reaching out to grab onto the sleeve of his Draco’s sweater.

“No, I won’t leave, Teddy.”

“Promise you won’t leave?” Teddy huffed, resting his chin on Potter’s shoulder. He looked utterly exhausted.

“I promise,” he said again. He meant it.

“Ok good, I love you, Draco,” Teddy said quietly, watching him with soft eyes as Potter carried him up the stairs. It was only when they were gone that Draco realised he didn’t say the words back, that he never says them back.

Twenty minutes later Potter reappeared. Before Draco could open his mouth Potter laughed.

“He fell asleep halfway through putting on his pyjamas. I tucked him into bed and waited to make sure he didn’t wake up looking for one of us.

“You’re good with at that. At taking care of Teddy I mean.”

Potter looked surprised by the compliment as he joined Draco at the kitchen table. “I thought I’d be rubbish at it you know? I thought for sure you had to have experience being loved to be able to love someone else, but it just comes naturally. I think anyone would be good at it. I’m just doing what I’m supposed to. Taking care of my family. Teddy is my family.” His voice was firm.

Draco wanted to disagree, wanted to tell Potter those things don’t come naturally to everyone - definitely not to _him_. He wanted to tell Potter it’d taken Draco nearly two years to look at Teddy like family, and they were actually related for fucks sake. Maybe he was not as decent a person as Potter, no one was. Most people don’t take their role as godparent as seriously as Potter has, especially not at eighteen-years-old and fresh out of a war. But Potter had funnelled his loss into making sure Teddy never felt any. Draco supposed maybe for Potter, making sure Teddy never felt lost helped Potter feel less lost too.

“Do you want some tea?” Potter asked, rubbing his hands over the stubble on his face and looking uncomfortable.

“I could go for something a lot stronger than tea,” Draco confessed with an awkward laugh.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Potter groaned. “Me too.” Potter Summoned a bottle of firewhisky and two glass tumblers. He poured them silently, topping his own glass off noticeably fuller than Draco’s, which he sent sailing across the table with a casual flick of his wand.

Potter’s glass was empty before Draco had taken his first sip, and Draco couldn't stop himself from speaking. “What exactly are you hoping to find at the bottom of that glass, Potter?”

Potter looked up from the hole he was boring into the table with his eyes, grimacing. “Err-”

“Eloquent,” Draco laughed, lifting in glass in a silent _cheers_ and downing his in one go as well.

Draco wasn’t sure how exactly it happened. They were in the kitchen neatly sharing dignified shots in crystal tumblers like normal adults, and then they were sitting side by side on the sofa - and why the fuck were they sitting so close, the bloody sofa was massive - taking turns chugging the firewhisky straight from the bottle.

“Did you know I hate my job?” Potter confessed after taking two chugs of firewhisky.

Draco nearly dropped the bottle in surprise, squinting as he turned his eyes on Potter. “But you’re _good_ at it?”

Potter sighed heavily, dropping his head onto the back of the sofa and closing his eyes. “Fucking hate it all the same. I hate the paperwork and the red tape and the bureaucracy. I hate that I can’t save everyone and that I still feel like I should. Mostly I hate that the only times I feel happy are when I’m avoiding responsibility and playing with Teddy.”

Draco knew they’re both drunk, but they’re definitely not that drunk. Potter was not slurring words or looking confused. In fact he looked like he meant exactly what he said. The idea of Potter being unhappy made Draco’s chest ache.

“That’s not irresponsible, you’re just taking care of Teddy. You are being responsible.”

Potter turned his head and cracked his eyes open, gifting Draco with a pleased smile. “Want to know a secret?”

Draco swallowed. “Yes.” The way Potter was looking at him, he’s pretty sure he’d say yes if Potter asked if he wanted to hear about the mating ritual of Flobberworms.

Potter leaned towards him, his weight making the sofa dip and Draco’s body inches closer. The smell of alcohol was heavy on his warm breath as it ghosted across Draco’s face. “I put in my notice yesterday.” Potter’s smile widened as laughed like quitting your job was the most hysterical thing in the entire world.

“What the fuck are you going to do instead?” Draco asked, torn between pride at Potter’s courage and shock at his giving up so much security and prestige.

Potter stopped laughing, looked down at his lap, and played with his fingers. “Don’t know. Don’t care. I’m just...tired of waiting.”

Draco swallowed, lifted the bottle up to his lips, and took a drink that was far too big. It burned on the way down, and Draco coughed, licking the residual whisky off his lips. “What have you been waiting for?”

“Everything. To be happy. To feel like I’m doing the right thing. To-” Potter stopped suddenly, his hands twitching nervously as he grabbed the bottle of firewhisky, but instead of taking a drink he put it on the floor. “Can I kiss you?” he blurted.

Draco’s head swam. Of all the things he’d expected to hear, that’s the last one, even further down than the list than finding out Potter - Potter who was on track to become the youngest Head Auror in history - hated his job and had apparently quit. Potter wanted to kiss him. This could not be happening.

“Why?” Draco asked, tongue heavy in his mouth. Instead of looking upset at the question, Potter smiled. “Why are you smiling, Potter?”

Beads of sweat formed on Draco’s knuckles, and he tried to rub them on his trousers, but Potter wouldn’t let him because he entwined them with his own. “That wasn’t a no. That’s why I’m smiling.”

“Oh,” Draco said stupidly, looking down at their entwined fingers. He wondered if this was the firewhisky talking or if Potter was stupid enough to fancy him. He hadn’t realised he’d said it out loud until Potter began to laugh. Fuck, Potter’s laugh was nice. It made Draco’s body shiver, and he was overcome with the urge to press against Potter and do anything to make him keep smiling and laughing.  He realised he would do ridiculous things to make that happen.

“Been a bit stupid for awhile I guess. I just…wasn’t sure if you felt the same.”

Draco wanted to ask how long Potter has fancied him back, how long he’s missed the signs. Were they obvious? Had Potter wanted him to see and Draco was oblivious or had he kept his feelings hidden the same way Draco had? He wanted to ask so many things but instead asked the obvious. “Can I kiss _you_?”

Potter grinned  and moved to straddle Draco on the couch and put his hands in Draco’s hair, and Draco didn’t know if the groan came from him or Potter because he couldn’t remember the last time he let anyone touch him and fuck Potter had nice hands - they’re warm and strong and the thick pads of his fingertips  glided along Draco’s scalp and he opened his mouth to say please, but before he could get the words out Potter’s lips were on his own. It was insistent and demanding and Potter’s lips were softer than they looked, and the firewhisky tasted so much better on the tip of Potter’s tongue than out of the bottle as Draco sucked it into his mouth feeling drunk on the needy sounds Potter made.

“Fuck,” Potter whimpered, panting into Draco’s mouth as he rested their foreheads together. “Fuck, please come upstairs.”

“You want me to stay?” Draco whispered as he moved his thumb up to stroke Potter’s cheek.

Potter’s eyes were shut but they fluttered open at the question, burning bright and honest. “As long as you want.”

“Let’s start with staying tonight,” Draco answered. Potter opened his mouth to say something but Draco silenced him with a kiss, knowing if he didn’t say it now he would never get the courage to do so later, “and tomorrow we can talk about the rest.” Draco had a pretty good idea of what he wanted from Potter, but what exactly Potter wanted from _him_ was still a bit unclear.

Potter nodded and his lips quirked up in the corner as a smile spread across his face and Draco felt the weight of it, of the fact he put that smile there. Potter leaned forward again and nudged his nose against Draco’s cheek, breathed him in as if he were a revelation, and Draco felt lightheaded. Then Potter kissed him again, and his hands cupped Draco’s face as their lips moved together like they’d done it a million times already, and Draco sighed into the kiss.

He thought perhaps Potter wasn’t the only one who was tired of waiting.

Potter huffed out a delighted laugh, resting their foreheads together. “Will you stay?” Potter asked.

“Yes,” Draco whispered, and this time his smile eclipsed Potter’s.

  
  


***~*~*~***

  


Draco groaned at the light streaming through the open curtains and rolled over, shoving his face into the pillow. It was too bright, and though Draco had no idea what time it was, the bloody obnoxious birds chirping outside the window confirmed his suspicions it was too early. If he was awake it was only fair Potter was too, but when he rolled over, intent on waking him up, the other half of the bed was empty.

Draco panicked, worried Potter had only said what he did because he was drunk.

He stumbled out of bed, reaching for his discarded clothing and not bothering to cast a cleaning charm on them before dressing and wondering if he could sneak out. It wasn’t until he was searching for his wand that he noticed a small vial atop a note on the bedside table.

 

_Take this hangover potion and come downstairs. We need to talk._

__-Harry__

 

Draco’s blood ran cold as he walked down the stairs. He felt like he should have expected this. Wasn’t this exactly why he’d kept his feelings locked away? Wasn’t this exactly why he threw himself into his work? People, himself included, were too unreliable, too confusing, and messy.

Draco was tempted to Disapparate on the spot, but he resisted. If Potter was going to tell him last night was a mistake then he needed to hear it.

“Hey, you’re up,” Potter said happily when Draco made his way into the kitchen.

Potter was wearing those hideous pyjama bottoms again and, fuck - is that Draco’s shirt? Draco looked down and pulled at his own shirt and noticed for the first time he was wearing _Potter’s_ shirt. Well, fuck.

“You want some tea? Pancakes?” Potter asked, moving around the kitchen with ease. Draco had never thought someone would look so happy to see him before breaking up with him. Maybe Potter thought if he filled Draco’s stomach, it wouldn’t hurt so much when he breaks his heart.

“Sure,” Draco answered. Potter looked pleased, and Draco felt his lips curling into a smile of their own accord.

The silence was surprisingly not awkward as Potter opened and shut cupboards, pulled out dishes and ingredients and began making what Draco could only assume was pancake batter. He poured a portion  into a pan on the stove and set the kettle to boil with a flick of his wand. Potter cooks pancakes as if he’d done it a million times, filling the pate beside him before placing them on the table in front of Draco.

“Are you going to sit down or just watch me eat?” Draco asked with a raised eyebrow. Potter laughed and plopped into the chair next to him, his cup of tea cradled in his hand.

“So about last night,” Potter began, fingers toying with the handle on his mug.

“If you think it was a mistake I completely understand and-”

Potter’s eyes shot up in panic. “No.” He said confidently, like there was not a single doubt in his mind. “I’m sorry, for whatever it is I’ve done that might make you think I could regret what happened. Regret us. I don’t.”

Draco’s breath caught in his throat. _Us_. Are they an us now?

“You’re not exactly easy to read, Potter,” Draco confessed.

“Pot. Kettle. Black.” Potter's lip curled up in the corner and he playfully nudged Draco’s knee under the table with his own. “I’m sorry if I’ve been sending mixed signals. I-,” he paused, taking a long, slow drink of his tea, weighing his words carefully. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted. Or I thought I was. I thought it was just me.”

“You thought I didn’t want you?” Draco asked. He could not pretend to be surprised, he'd never exactly been forthcoming with his feelings. But all the same, the idea that Potter’s apparent mood swings were caused by him pining over Draco was still surprising. Draco felt heartened to know this wasn’t one-sided.

“You’ve got so much going on. I wasn’t sure you had time for me. Or that’d you want,” Potter exhaled heavily looking self-conscious, “ _me_ ,” he finished.

“I do,” Draco supplied honestly and pressed his knee against Potter’s. “Want you.” He’s sure the last bit was obvious but he added it anyway, for himself and for Potter.

“That’s...good. That’s really good,” Potter said softly. “Me too.”

Draco opened his mouth, but his next words died on his lips as Teddy came barreling into the room. “Pancakes! Draco you stayed!”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “I did promise.”

“Will you stay all day?” Teddy asked hopefully, climbing into the empty chair and putting his stuffed hippogriff in the one beside him.

“I can stay as long as you want,” Draco answered, words directed at Teddy, but meant for Potter.

Teddy grinned, reaching for a pancake and putting it on his plate before launching into a detailed story about the dream he’d had that involved a talking phoenix and a flying kneazle.

“What if I said forever?” Potter whispered when Teddy stopped talking long enough to shove a huge bite of jam-covered pancake into his mouth. The warmth of Potter’s thigh pressed against Draco’s made his heart race.

“I’d say,” Draco began, “why don’t we start with pancakes, then talk about forever.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](http://goldentruth813.tumblr.com/) <3


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